


call the ships to port

by Sierra



Category: Free!
Genre: Choking, M/M, Minor Violence, On-Again/Off-Again Relationship, Pirate AU, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, enemies!sourin, side souharu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-08-29 16:13:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8496790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sierra/pseuds/Sierra
Summary: Propriety is still high on Makoto’s list of priorities. He grasps Rin’s wrist and pulls him around to the back of the staircase. “What are you doing here?”“I could ask you the same,” he purrs. “It’s been a long time, Makoto… A year and a half? God, I missed you.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RinChanSanMatsuoka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RinChanSanMatsuoka/gifts).



> Makoto's birthday exchange 2016! Prompt was MakoRin, pirate au. 
> 
> Because this wound up essentially being porn, the plot is minimal but it's there if you squint and rotate your head 180 degrees. I purposely left the setting ambiguous for the same reason, so pls imagine that we live in an alternate universe where I did adequate research to pull of a historically accurate pirate au. :X; 
> 
> beta'd by the wonderful iska. :> [tumblr](http://iskabee.tumblr.com/) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/letsmosey)

* * *

 

Haru’s voice when it calls him is far from melodious. It sounds like a crackling pitch of lightning, effective in rousing him from his bed and drawing him to the ship’s deck, a cotton sheet draped around his shoulders. He’s quick to adjust to the sparse moonlight painting the wooden slats as he makes his way to the edge and peers overboard. The gentle slap of water against the hull carries Haru closer with each wave. His eyes are lit up like a candle in the dark, eerily bright.

“You’re gonna wake up the entire ship with that _screeching_ ,” Rin hisses down to him. “What do you want, Haru?”

Haru frowns. “I need to see him, Rin.”

Rin’s face darkens. “It hasn’t been that long.”

“You haven’t been counting,” Haru says, and his voice is colder than the wind kicking up. Rin draws the blanket tighter around himself. “Help me.”

“You could go without me,” he mutters. Haru’s sharp ears pick it up but he shows no outward signs, dipping down in the water so it laps around his chin. “Can’t you two go fuck on a rock somewhere?”

“Rin.”

His scowl etches deeper. “How do you know he’s gonna be there for sure?”

“It’s not a guarantee,” Haru murmurs, gaze dropping. “I heard it from some of the others in my clan as they were passing through. It’s just a possibility.”

“A possibility that he _might_ be there,” Rin echoes. “You want me to risk getting caught on a fucking possibility? You swallowed too much seawater. If you think I’m gonna jeopardise my crew and cargo for you and Sousuke, you can just shove it up—”

“Then the next one of you to fall overboard might not be so lucky.”

Rin hesitates. He’s never known Haru to threaten anyone but he’s never had reason to.

“I could do without the migraine Sousuke’s face gives me.”

“It’s probably phantom pain,” Haru says, looking entirely unsympathetic.

“Yeah,” Rin snaps. “From the time he _carved out my fucking eye_. You can fuck right off with that, Haru. I want no part of it, not this time.”

Haru’s eyes slide to him. The still of the night settles on Rin again, making him keenly aware of how quiet it’s become. Even the water is conspiring against him, cradling Haru and protecting his scheming from the threat of common sense. A creak from somewhere below Rin makes both of them pause, and Haru recovers from it first, tail lashing against the water in mild agitation.

Rin’s voice has been louder than Haru’s since the moment he stepped on deck. He makes a note to himself to double-check the cabins when they’re done; Momo is a light sleeper and Nagisa is a serial eavesdropper, and combined they give Rin as much of a headache as Haru’s sometimes-lover does.

“He has something you want, too,” Haru calls as Rin is considering returning to bed. “Or didn’t you hear?”

Rin wants to tell him to save the brokering for a rainy day but the lure traps his attention, roots him to the spot. He knows better than to let hope rekindle yet it does in an instant, sparking a roaring flame back to life. He’s dashed it out with water many times before on mornings he’s had to leave, exhausted but sated as the early light touched on skin burned dark by the blistering sun, skimming strands of hair streaked gold.

Senseless as it may be, Rin allows it to guide him back to Haru. He pulls the blanket off, lips pressed to a thin line.

“I don’t listen to gossip like a merman,” he says, dismissing the impulse to communicate his sudden, intense interest. His face remains blank. “What should I have heard?”

He already knows. Rumours don’t take long to reach them even in the middle of uncharted seas and unfamiliar waters. Captured navy ships have crews that crack under a fractional amount of pressure, men without mettle, of bought loyalty. Though most of what they know is useless, the talk of the town is always who has earned their way up to work under Sousuke. One name always came up more than the rest.

“Makoto,” Haru answers. “If there’s any merit to what I heard, he’ll be there.”

A cargo captain once, now a general. At first Rin hoped he’d heard wrong, that talk was just talk and tales grew taller the more they were told. But when it proved to be a recurring theme among the crews of half a dozen ships, he knew it had to hold some truth. Even as years passed and he heard no news of his once-lover, that faith in Makoto remained untouched.

Rin hopes it doesn’t show on his face. He toys with his lip between his teeth until it stings, and then the inside of his cheek becomes his refuge. Haru waits for him to think, bobbing in the water like a champagne cork with just as few cares in the world.

Haru’s life isn’t at stake if he goes ashore. His seasonal need to get laid doesn’t hinge on Rin accompanying him. It’s a decision he could just as easily make and carry out on his own. He would follow the tide until it brought him to Sousuke on some remote shore, far from prying eyes.

“And you expect me to act on that limited amount of unreliable information?” he mumbles. “To chance everything I have onboard—and my crew—just for an opportunity to…see him?”

Haru blinks at him, slow and measured. “He’d do it for you.”

“You don’t know him,” Rin retorts. For some reason, his face feels hot. “The only human you know on a freakishly intimate level is Sousuke, how could you even _begin_ —”

“I’ve heard you cry out for him,” Haru murmurs. “In your sleep.”

Rin’s heart stops.

* * *

“How long is he going to keep following us?” Nagisa asks, resting his hands on the railing. “He’s going to scare the bait away!”

Below, Haru keeps pace with the ship, a shadowed figure just under the surface of the water, passing through waves kicked up by the prow with ease. It’s a steady and almost lazy drag for him. With one flick of a tail he could be gone and out of sight, and Rin might not see him for another month or more. Today he seems content to trail them the way he has been for the last few days, never surpassing them but never falling behind, either.

It began this way, too. One day Momo shrieked bloody murder at what he alleged was a shark fin circling the back of the ship. In reality it was closer to a dolphin’s fluke, but that wasn’t quite how Rin, from aboard with Momo clinging to his back, would have described it. Momo at some point in his hurry to flee had hurled down a bucket of half-picked fish skeletons and innards at Haru, and that was what Rin found him chewing on when he pried Momo off with the help of Nagisa. Those strange cat-eyed pupils honed in on Rin then, assessing, writing him off as no threat. Though curious, Rin knew no tales of half-men and humans that ended well, and so ordered the anchors up and the ship away.

If only it worked. Haru tracked the ship for weeks, surfacing only when someone on deck was gutting fish and tossing away the inedible parts. And to Rin it was obvious that Haru, while in possession of razor-sharp teeth and an unnerving ability to scent the blood, was no danger to them.

The sun is bright, reflecting light off the edge of Rin’s dagger as he scrapes a cut of flint down the length of it. Nagisa’s back goes rigid at the sound, his hands curling to fists.

“It’s been three years,” Rin says, testing the dagger point with the tip of his finger. Blood pricks on his skin. He grins, sheathing it back into his belt and joining Nagisa. “And you only just _now_ noticed?”

“I spend most of my year on land processing your illegal cargo to make sure it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands,” Nagisa huffs, jabbing Rin in the ribs, “in case you just now noticed. Anyway, say something to him or none of us are eating tonight. I can’t stomach Momo’s soup again! Captain or no captain, you can’t make me do it, Rin-chan.”

Rin ruffles a hand through Nagisa’s hair fondly. “We’re landing tonight.”

Nagisa blinks. “Is that why we’re heading—I thought my compass was broken!” He pauses, and his curious stare finds Rin from under his fringe. “Wait, why? I’m not complaining, I’m sick of seafood. But isn’t it dangerous? Is Sousuke—?”

“That’s the reason we’re going,” Rin says, hand falling away. His gaze turns to Haru’s form, following it as Haru dives under a wave without breaching for breath.

Effortless, natural. If Rin had half as much grace on land, he’d still have his fucking eye.

He raises a hand to touch the eyepatch, and misses Nagisa in his blind spot. Fingers curl around his wrist and lower it to his side.

“You’re the captain,” Nagisa states. “We do as the captain orders. It has nothing to do with the appeal of dry land and appetizing food, promise.”

Rin snorts and settles a hand in Nagisa’s hair again. He’s not openly affectionate with many of his crew, but none of them have been with him as long as Nagisa, or nearly as faithful. He can count Nagisa among the two reasons he still has his other eye.

“Enjoy it while you can. We’re out of here at first light tomorrow.”

Nagisa leans against him, nodding. “Aye, captain.”

* * *

By the time Rin pushes past the hanging fabric acting as a door to the bar, he realises how much he’s banking on what Haru said being true. There’s nobody else he’d put half as much faith in except Nagisa (or Momo, in a pressing situation with no other outs and promises of fealty guaranteed by a solemn vow on his brother’s life).

He has no reason not to trust Haru. Maybe it’s early-onset scurvy, but with the mention of Makoto came a new willingness to take a chance on Haru.

Rin takes a seat at the bar, trying to keep his head down. All the clothes that make him recognisable—a beacon for what he is—are back on the ship, anchored a mile out to sea on the most isolated corner of the island. Rowing in took an hour. His arms are strained and his legs ache, so the counter is a welcome support as he rests there for a moment, absorbing the atmosphere. The girl behind the bar takes his mumbled order for a gin but otherwise ignores him, and for once in his life Rin could care less about being the centre of attention.

He just prays that Haru is keeping Sousuke occupied on whatever desolate and unfortunate beach they’ve found themselves.

The bounty on Rin’s head is high. Going without his eyepatch is a bold move but it’s the most distinguishable thing about him besides his hair, smoothed back under a bandana. It’s dark enough to hide the fact he’s missing an eye, and the other patrons are too inebriated to pay him much mind.

He doesn’t know if he’s waiting or killing time for Haru’s sake. After three glasses of gin, he decides he doesn’t care.

Maybes are enough for him.

Worst case, he gets plastered and finds himself a whore for the night. It’s been a long time since he got laid—close to eighteen months, and there’s been no sign of Makoto for just as long—and he could stand to spend a night with his nose pressed to the back of someone’s neck.

Rin lifts his head, breezing along the fishermen seated along the bar on both sides of him. Lesser soldiers of the navy line the booths, none who would know his face. Some older women, the wives of men who have gone to war and not returned, are seated at the hearth where no fire rages. Rin thinks the one blazing in his heart could suffice, keep them all warm. He buries a smirk in his glass, taking one last look.

From across the bar at the foot of the stairs, rapt green eyes catch him. Rin freezes, locks onto the face in a heartbeat, straightening up and clasping the glass so tightly that he swears he feels it start to splinter under the pressure.

The man is unmistakably Makoto, in a uniform that strikes a different sort of fire in Rin, an odd sense of betrayal for a man who’s just trying to survive like he is. Like all of them.

Hell, if Rin were offered a promotion on the scale of Makoto’s, he might have taken it too. Personal history with Sousuke aside, turning down an opportunity to make something of himself isn’t a choice Rin could make lightly and when it comes down to it, he holds Makoto to that standard regardless of whose command he falls under.

He pushes those thoughts down far enough that they won’t surface again until morning. They can wait—and so can Haru, and the crew, and any lingering guilt for what he plans to do. Makoto was never a man of action or an instigator, and Rin specialises in both.

For once he doesn’t care that he has to be the catalyst. By the intensity in Makoto’s gaze, Rin has already set off a chain reaction.

He’s the one to close the distance, throwing down some coins to cover the tab. As he gets closer, Makoto looks like he might be thrown into flight mode but he stays where he is, with a buoyant look that echoes the feeling taking Rin’s vocal cords and tying them in knots.

Rin fists Makoto’s shirt. It’s smart, pressed, and neat. All of the things Makoto is, and he is not.

The first trembling breath between them is Makoto’s. He doesn’t repress the smile that takes his mouth, and it snares Rin like a hummingbird to nectar. Makoto’s lips taste just as sweet when Rin sweeps up on his toes for a kiss, and then another. The catch of an inhale is all the impetus he needs to push it further, tongue sliding in. Makoto caves to him, bends to him like a wildflower bowing to the wind. A thrum of excitement runs along Rin’s skin.

Propriety is still high on Makoto’s list of priorities. He grasps Rin’s wrist and pulls him around to the back of the staircase. “What are you doing here?”

Rin tries not to give away how pleased he is with Makoto pushing him to the wall in the hurry not to be caught. He doesn’t want to be seen by the wrong people either, but considering that Haru’s sources have proven correct, he’s perfectly content to believe that Sousuke is far from here.

“I could ask you the same,” he purrs. “It’s been a long time, Makoto… A year and a half? God, I missed you.”

Makoto seems caught between returning the sentiment and hiding it away out of sight. His mouth firms in thought, and he throws a nod to the bartender and mouths a few words before glancing back to Rin. “I’ve got a room for the night.”

“That better be an invitation.”

“I’m not asking you,” Makoto says, with a little smile. “I’m telling you.”

* * *

Rin locks the door, but he can’t hold his tongue. “I have a lot of questions for you.”

“Me, too,” Makoto admits as he tears the bed covers back. “But now really isn’t the time for it. I’ve got you for a few hours—don’t look at me like that, I know you aren’t staying overnight—and I want to make the most of it. Can you wait, Rin? I promise I’ll tell you want you want to know after we’re done, okay?”

The implication of the last sentence coupled with Makoto grabbing either end of his black undershirt and shedding it to expose a smooth expanse of muscle Rin hasn’t seen for a year is entirely unfair. He tries to protest, to make the point that hundreds of miles and hours and minutes have passed between them _without_ answers, that he’s had to make do with nothing in the time they’ve been apart, had to beg and scrape for his life more times than he cares to count, and Makoto has been there for none of it.

Rin knows it’s not by choice. They are at odds, and they always will be as long as Sousuke is the one in control of the sea they sail on. There’s no helping it, no getting past or around it.

For tonight he can put it aside. Makoto never breaks his promises, and Rin has missed more than the comfort of knowing he isn’t the only one between them who feels.

He slides onto the bed and rubs a hand over the cotton-picked wool, holding Makoto’s gaze steadily. “It can wait,” he says, crooking a finger. “Come here, Makoto.”

Makoto is already a step ahead, crawling over him. Rin sinks to the mattress as Makoto captures him in a rough kiss, allows Makoto to throw a leg across his hips and hold him down. His weight atop Rin is a welcome anchor as he loses a few scant moments to taste and touch, his hands threading through Makoto’s hair. Makoto cradles Rin’s face in a hand between kisses and his fingers brush Rin’s newest helix piercing, a tender thing still healing. Rin gasps into Makoto’s attentive lips, and then he’s pulling away to suckle at the midpoint of Rin’s throat. He’s sensitive there, and Makoto clearly remembers that as his teeth close on skin.

“Hey,” Rin breathes, trying to remember in the haze of the dizzy spell Makoto’s kiss casts over him. “Did—did you bring anything with you—” He shifts onto an elbow to let Makoto unlace his pants and drag them off, leaving him in a burgundy undershirt with a deep neckline.

“No,” Makoto mumbles against Rin’s throat. “It didn’t occur to me that you’d be here, Rin, how could I… How did you know I was here?”

Rin grins and trails his fingertips through Makoto’s hair with an impish laugh. “Thought the questions could wait. Lucky I always have something on me in case I run into you in some random corner of the world, huh?”

Makoto makes a soft, resentful noise. A hand skims down Rin’s bare hip and thigh, purposely avoiding the one place Rin wants it. He was well on his way to hard the moment he saw Makoto in the crowded bar. After such an extended separation, he couldn’t give two shits if every single person in the place watched them fuck now, as long as it means he can have Makoto to himself for a while, unfettered, uncomplicated by their social bounds and the company they keep.

“Okay,” Makoto agrees in a murmur. “After.”

Rin can’t resist. He lifts a thigh, buries it between Makoto’s and feels the sheer _heat_ that shows him nothing has changed since last they met. He has new scars and piercings and less ambition to show for it, but Makoto is as unchanging as the ocean. Aged by it, but not owned or ruled by it.

Makoto’s lips part around a whimper, and Rin is certain he’s never seen anything nearly as transfixing. Makoto’s hips rock down into his leg, reminding Rin rather quickly of his own predicament, and the time ticking away the longer this goes on.

He imagines Sousuke and Haru fucking on their rock and hopes to god Sousuke sits on an oyster shell or steps on a stonefish. Then maybe he and Makoto would be free from this, from the opposing sides of the board they find themselves on.

Rin shivers when Makoto’s fingers graze his cock. He reaches for his discarded pants, patting through the pockets to snag the bottle of oil.

“Makoto,” he whispers. “I want to remember this tomorrow. For days. For however long it is until I see you again, I… Make me feel this.”

Makoto opens glassy eyes and presses a kiss to the tip of Rin’s nose, looking abashed as only he can with his thumb rolling over the tip of Rin’s length. “It’s been a while since I...”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Rin purrs, satisfied in a way he can’t articulate when Makoto grins back at him in understanding. His hand finds Makoto’s at his hip, and he guides it to his throat, arranging Makoto’s palm against the softest part. The cartilage is fragile. Susceptible to damage and simple to break. Rin wants to feel the pads of Makoto’s fingers in the tendons, know the patterns of them burned deep in his skin. “Just use your imagination a little. You’re gonna make me feel good no matter what you do, promise.”

“It’s hard to,” Makoto points out, “with you like this.”

Rin fixes that in a matter of seconds, using the energy from the buzz of alcohol to find momentum and heave himself up. Makoto rolls to his back, and Rin finds a comfortable spot on top of him. All the while Makoto’s hand stays firm around his throat. There’s no threat, and Rin feels no fear. He’s thrown his life carelessly into the hands of others without a second thought before. Makoto is the only person worthy of his implicit trust, on whose faith he would easily stake his life.

Rin presses the oil into Makoto’s free hand. He traces a finger along Makoto’s jaw, silently approving of the light stubble.

“Do you know how long it’s been since someone fucked me the way you do?” His voice pitches lower with each word. Makoto’s eyes grow darker like the churning ocean after a storm, focused in on his every move. Rin leans forward until the pressure of Makoto’s hand cuts off his breath just so, and murmurs, “Touch me.”

“I need both hands for that,” Makoto counters, but he’s close to breathless at Rin’s words, and his grip flexes around Rin’s neck. “At least if I’m going to make you come.”

Rin gives an assenting nod. The hand occupying his throat slides down to scrunch in the hem of his undershirt instead. He tugs up and Rin squirms out of it. He managed to place himself on Makoto’s hips in such a way that he can feel Makoto through the thin material of his pants, feel the outline of his cock as it presses between the cradle of Rin’s thighs. Makoto drizzles oil over his fingers and Rin complies when he’s beckoned, pressing himself up onto his knees. A hand on the pillow beside Makoto’s head supports his body as it shivers with the first, cool drag of a slick knuckle along the seam of his inner thigh.

“Keep going,” Rin encourages, fighting to keep every muscle still. “I’ve been waiting a long time for t-this—Makoto,” he breathes, tone dropping off into an exhaling moan when Makoto slips two fingers inside him.

Makoto watches with an unsettling calm, smile curling at his lips. “Rin…”

It never takes him long to want more. After barely a moment, he finds his hips meeting each of Makoto’s gentle motions, intended to warm him up, to ease him into the familiar stretch and burn that’s coming.

He slides a hand down, pressing the heel of it to Makoto’s cock through his clothes, and Makoto rewards him with a low whine and a renewed effort to pull every noise from Rin’s throat.

Rin has considerably more self control, knowing from experience that Makoto has never been the type to take matters into his own hands in Rin’s absence. He’s celibate by choice, and while it’s a lifestyle Rin could never see himself getting used to, he’s the one who occasionally warms his bed with whores. He has no room to judge.

He gasps when Makoto retaliates by easing another finger in. It feels like a tight fit, and for a beat Makoto hesitates until Rin glares at him, teeth flashing in a reproachful scowl. Then he resumes, crooking his fingers into all the parts of Rin that he can’t reach himself, can never replicate when he’s alone and craving anything of Makoto he can get. He has it now and he wants to take advantage well before the sun rises, because by then he’ll be long gone.

“Enough,” he says breathlessly. “Makoto, I said _enough_.”

His body obeys Makoto’s fingers as they delve deeper. His back curves like a bow, and he considers, for a fleeting moment, drawing this out until either one or both of them is screaming. They’ve done it before with unforgettable results, memories to last every cold night between one meeting and the next.

If there was time, maybe.

“Who decides when it’s enough?” Makoto asks. He withdraws all the same, and Rin fights the urge to take Makoto by the wrist and guide his fingers back inside. “You? Rin, I don’t take orders from anyone except—”

“If you say his name,” Rin spits without vehemence, the effect ruined by his strained but determined grin, “I’ll leave you hanging for another eighteen months. I swear on my _life_.”

Makoto winces. “You’d be no better off than me.”

“No,” Rin admits. “But I’m not as proud as you. I’ll take whatever as long as it gets me laid, you know that.”

“I think it was the first thing I learned about you,” Makoto says coyly, but his voice drops away to a feverish tone when Rin edges back to reposition himself, fingers plucking at the laces of Makoto’s pants. He wrenches them open and reaches in for Makoto’s arousal, freeing it with an absent lick of his lips.

“Lie back,” he murmurs. “Let yourself enjoy this.”

Makoto nods and his head drops to the pillow, a sheen of sweat on his face. His fingers curl into the blankets as Rin takes his first taste, a slow graze of his tongue along the underside and up the shaft to the head, where he holds Makoto’s gaze. The sharp intake of breath is reward enough as his lips close around the tip, and his gag reflex proves to be as dead as it always was when the rest of Makoto’s cock slips into his mouth and down his throat. A hand tangles through Rin’s hair, smoothing it back off his forehead and doubtless making it easier to watch, to take in the view as Rin swallows him whole to the base with each bob of his head. He feels the muscles of his throat spasming around Makoto, and his moan finds an echo in Makoto, in the intensity of those green eyes honed to his mouth.

When he pulls off, it’s not by choice. It’s by Makoto’s hand in his hair, and he allows it, glancing up in mild annoyance at being interrupted.

A courtesy move. Or to save face, because no celibate general in the navy of an equally celibate admiral can last long under that kind of pressure. A grin splits Rin’s face at the thought, and he rubs a thumb at the corner of his lips to remove the excess spit.

“Ready, then?” he whispers, dragging Makoto’s pants to mid-thigh. That’s all the room Makoto will need to move as long as he’s on top, and that’s where he ends up, poised over Makoto’s cock, still coated with saliva.

Makoto feels for the oil again, pouring it over his hand and slicking himself generously, as if he hasn’t prepared Rin thoroughly enough. As if Rin hasn’t been dreaming of this—and the feeling of control wrenched out of his hands—for months.

He lets Makoto do the work in guiding himself to Rin’s entrance, and he takes over for Makoto when the tip breaches him. His hips sink into it before his head can catch up, and when it does his skin is flush with Makoto’s and there’s a sweet burning up his spine that accompanies the fullness that makes his skin prickle with fresh shivers.

“Oh, fuck,” he says on an abrupt inhale. “Makoto…”

Makoto’s body is trembling in waves as he takes longer to adjust than Rin, who did so in a heartbeat. He soothes it with hands to either side of Makoto’s face, drawing his gaze up. He might only be able to see Makoto with one eye anymore, but it’s more than enough for him to take all of it in, to let himself be the port for once instead of a storm ravaging the harbour.

Makoto’s hands close around his wrists, and an answering smile appears at his lips. “Move, Rin.”

_I’ll take care of the rest._

It’s what Rin needs to hear. He shifts, plants his hands on Makoto’s chest instead, and works his hips into a slow rock, no more of a push-pull than waves breaking the shore at high tide. His head tips back as Makoto responds to him reflexively, just a slight thrust upwards. The baring of his neck invites Makoto’s hands—strong and calloused and _bold_ —and the ensuing hold startles the breath out of him.

He remembers what it feels like. How powerful it made him feel to leave his heart beating in Makoto’s hands, to trust him with a kind of fragility he could so easily break if he chose to.

“More,” he hears himself say. “I’ll tell you to stop if—if I— _ah_ , Makoto—!”

It’s a wonder he still has the capacity for speech when Makoto’s hold tightens. This time his breath hisses out of him in a moan. The pace he’s set with his hips is dizzying but second nature by now. Each time he slides over Makoto’s cock, he grinds into it, indulgent and guided by thoughtless reflex. He’d sob if he could but Makoto is merciless, and Rin is suddenly, selfishly grateful that Sousuke will never know this side of Makoto. The one that bends to his will so quickly and unquestioningly.

He knows when Makoto’s hands start to shake. Two become one as Makoto curls a hand around Rin’s cock to stroke him to completion. Both of them know the tipping point by now, and their bodies do even if they aren’t fully aware of it. That’s how Rin finds orgasm on a rough downstroke of his hips, Makoto buried inside him to the hilt, and he rocks back and forth with soundless moans forming in his throat. He clutches at Makoto’s remaining hand then, and it drops away but the damage is done and he’s tender, likely enough to bruise.

Rin smirks faintly to himself as Makoto stares up at him, mesmerized and impossibly aroused still. He swipes his thumb along Makoto’s bottom lip. His hips shift and twist in slow, practiced motions until, with a hiccupping cry, Makoto comes as well, both hands grasping at the front of Rin’s thighs. Rin still doesn’t let Makoto down from it until it’s well and truly clear that he has nothing more to give, and then Rin leans forward onto his knees to watch Makoto’s come-covered cock slide out of him incrementally as he savours every last inch of it.

He nestles beside Makoto while he’s still getting his breath back. Makoto’s face finds the crook of Rin’s neck, and he threads lazy fingers through Makoto’s hair.

“How long have we got for a little interrogation?” Rin murmurs, grinning when Makoto laughs into his skin, muffled.

“A few hours, maybe,” Makoto muses. “Is that enough?”

“For my questions,” Rin says, brushing his lips over Makoto’s temple. “And the rest of what I came here for.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! 
> 
> [tumblr](http://sierrasuke.tumblr.com/) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/sierrasuke)


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